


the war is over (and we are beginning)

by hanyolo



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyolo/pseuds/hanyolo
Summary: And Jim doesn’t know if he’s trying to make Will feel bad about what happened or if he’s just trying to get him to understand how serious, howterrifying, the whole situation is.“Ben?” Will asks after a long moment, voice quiet and uneven.“Uh, it’s Jim.”“Right. Jim. Can you, uh-“ he trails off, voice breaking slightly and it’s the first bit of emotion that he’s shown this entire phone call.“I’ll let you know when she’s out of surgery,” Jim assures him. Will hangs up then without another word. //set pre-series, the aftermath of mac being stabbed while embedded
Relationships: Will McAvoy/MacKenzie McHale
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	the war is over (and we are beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> okayyyyy so I started this in april maybe and I don't think I ever thought I would actually finish it, much less produce whatever this is. I don't usually write stuff that is set outwith the series because I have no imagination but I got this idea in my head and just kinda ran with it, and here we are. also I have no medical knowledge other than anything I've learnt watching grey's anatomy so that's where we're at with that and if there are any inaccuracies then that's just my bad. and if there are any mistakes it's because this took me so long and has so many words that, by the time I finished it, I was just ready to be done with it lol so that's also my bad
> 
> anyway I hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think!
> 
> (and sorry for not using chapters, it didn't fit my vibe)

They’re in Germany. Jim knows that much. That as hazy and vague his memories of the last twenty four hours are, he’s at least aware that they’re no longer in Islamabad.  


It had all happened so fast. He remembers Mac turning slowly to look at him, a confused frown on her face. He remembers her lifting her hands to her abdomen, her face white as she’d dropped to her knees beside him. He remembers the blood. Blanches when he thinks about that, doesn’t think he’s ever seen that much blood in his life. And he remembers Mac weakly clasping his hand, a terrified look on her face as the medic on their team had taken one look at her and called ahead for her to be airlifted to Landstuhl. 

He’d held her hand the entire drive to the regional medical centre, only letting go when it became clear the doctors couldn’t do their jobs with him in the way. 

“Jim,” Mac had choked out, eyes brimming with tears as they darted from him to the doctors, to all the equipment being set up. And she’d looked so scared, so small that Jim hadn’t known what to do. This wasn’t the Mac he knew. Brave, fearless MacKenzie who never backed down from a challenge. 

“You’ll be okay, Mac,” he’d said softly, forming the words around the lump in his throat, even if he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

“You have to-“ She’d tried to sit up then, stopped by a hacking cough that shook her whole upper body. Had immediately lain back down, much paler than before, eyes rolling slightly. “I need you to phone Will.” She’d been slurring her words now, eyes barely open. And Jim had to really focus on her next words, trying desperately not to let her know how scared he was. “Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I love him.”

Then her eyes had rolled back in her head and she’d passed out, Jim barely having time to react before the doctors had pushed him out the way, wheeled her into the trauma room. 

His last clear memory is of MacKenzie’s doctor telling him that her heart had stopped on the table. He’d said some other stuff, assured him that they’d managed to stop the bleeding and she was stable enough to be moved. But Jim really couldn’t focus on anything other than her heart stopped. 

The rest is a blur of gripping an unconscious MacKenzie’s hand and trying desperately not to break down. He doesn’t think he’d taken his eyes off her the whole flight.

Jim phones her parents first, answers their questions as best he can and assures them he’ll keep them updated. He thinks her dad says something about booking a flight but he can’t be sure, still struggling to focus on anything other than the image of Mac on the ground, pale and bloody, terrified. Or the image of Mac being wheeled into surgery, pale and bloody, unconscious. 

Their boss at CNN isn’t very understanding or sympathetic. Not that Jim expected much from Mark, who has made it clear that he doesn’t care for Mac’s methods or judgement, that he’s been waiting for a reason to pull them. He makes a comment about their insurance premiums, and he’s made enough of these that Jim knows he isn’t really joking. 

And maybe MacKenzie has been a bit reckless, especially in the past month or so. And Jim himself has been worried about her, had, at times, had to force her to stop and rest before she worked herself into exhaustion. Not that he would ever admit this to anyone, especially not Mark. 

Loyal to a fault, is what his mother used to say whenever he would get into fights at school trying to defend his friends. Not that he would ever come out on top.

But after spending twenty-six months with MacKenzie McHale, covering war zone after war zone, Jim is certain she deserves his loyalty. As careless as she could be with herself, Mac would never knowingly put the crew at risk, and this is what Jim clings to as he ends the call, body tense and eyes clouded with angry tears.

Will is next. Jim doesn’t know a lot about MacKenzie’s relationship with Will; every time he would ask she would clam up and change the subject, a sad sort of frown on her face. 

She’d almost opened up once. Just once, when one of the marines had found some kind of spirit stashed away and they’d spent the night getting almost recklessly drunk in their bunks. This was quite early into their time embedded, back when Jim didn’t know enough not to ask too many questions.

“What are you working on?” He had asked from his bunk, stretching his leg across the minimal space between their bunks to poke at her with his toe. 

“Not work,” she’d said, pushing his foot away with a lazy grin. “Writing home.”

“Your parents?”  


She shook her head. “Will,” she had said offhandedly, eyes still on the screen, seemingly without thinking about it if the way her entire body froze when she realised what she’d said was anything to go by. 

“Who-“ But even in the dim light of their bunk Jim could see that her eyes were filled with tears, that her teeth were pressing into her bottom lip so hard he was sure she’d draw blood. 

So he doesn’t know a lot, but he knows enough to call Will from his own phone, that he won’t get an answer if he uses MacKenzie’s phone. 

Will answers after three rings, a gruff, harsh greeting that gives Jim pause. 

“Um, is this — are you Will?”

“Speaking?”

“My name is Jim Harper. I work for CNN, with-“

“Look,” Will interrupts harshly. “If this has anything to do with MacKenzie I’m not interested.”

“She’s been stabbed,” Jim blurts out, immediately regretting his tactlessness but also terrified that Will is going to hang up without hearing him out. 

“Shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair as he drops into the seat behind him. “Sorry. I-“

Will doesn’t say anything but Jim can hear movement, knows he hasn’t hung up. 

“She was stabbed,” he repeats, voice low and much more calm. “There was a protest and-“

Will cuts him off. “I don’t need the details. Just - is she okay?”

“I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Her heart stopped, Will,” Jim snaps, voice choked and harsh. He’s angry now. Angry with Will for not caring enough, angry with MacKenzie for getting herself into this situation, angry with himself for not being able to stop it. “Her freaking heart stopped.”

He takes a deep, calming breath, closes his eyes as he gets his anger under control. The last thing he needs is for MacKenzie to get out of surgery to find he’s scared away the supposed love of her life. Not that Jim’s all that impressed by him so far. “We’re at Landstuhl,” he says into the phone. “There was too much... She lost a lot of blood. They stabilised her in Islamabad, flew us out to Landstuhl in a medevac.”

And Jim doesn’t know if he’s trying to make Will feel bad about what happened or if he’s just trying to get him to understand how serious, how _terrifying_ , the whole situation is. Or maybe he doesn’t want Will to have an excuse not to get in touch with MacKenzie. (Like, seriously, how much effort is it to reply to an email?)

“Ben?” Will asks after a long moment, voice quiet and uneven. 

“Uh, it’s Jim.”

“Right. Jim. Can you, uh-“ he trails off, voice breaking slightly and it’s the first bit of emotion that he’s shown this entire phone call. 

“I’ll let you know when she’s out of surgery,” Jim assures him. Will hangs up then without another word. 

.

Will doesn’t know how long he sits there, unmoving, unseeing, completely unaware of what’s going on around him. He has the words _Mac’s been stabbed_ on repeat in his head, interrupted every so often by _her heart stopped_. It’s only when he sees Charlie in front of him, albeit blurry and unfocused, does he realise there’s a tightness in his chest, a shortness in his breath that he knows can only mean he’s having a panic attack. He’d had them a lot growing up - his last had been in college, after he realised he would never have to see his dad again - but that doesn’t mean they get any easier, any less exhausting. 

He’s aware of Charlie in front of him, his voice low and murky in his ear, his hand resting lightly on Will’s arm. 

It only lasts a few minutes before he comes back to himself, leans his head back against his chair, eyes half closed, fingers pressed firmly against the surface of his desk as he continues to take long, slow breaths. 

“Will?”

He nods in acknowledgment. Takes another moment before opening his eyes to see Charlie’s concerned face. 

“Is everything okay?” Charlie asks, his expression more serious than Will has ever seen. 

Will hesitates, lights a cigarette with shaky hands. Smokes it right down to the filter without saying anything, immediately lights another. 

“My— God, I don’t know. My-,” he trails off, shakes his head as though trying to clear it. His voice is hoarse and there’s a lump forming in his throat, can feel his eyes welling up. The absolute last thing he wants to do right now is cry over a woman who broke his heart twenty-six months ago. But she’s been stabbed. She nearly died. And he’d be lying if he said he ever stopped loving her. He clears his throat, stubs out his cigarette, opting instead for the glass of whiskey Charlie has placed in front of him. Drinks the whole thing before he even tries to continue. 

“There was an incident,” he begins slowly. And why the fuck can’t he keep it together right now? Thankfully Charlie doesn’t comment on the way he leans forward on the desk, head down and eyes shut as he takes a deep, calming breath. It’s the only thing Will can think to do that might stop him from falling apart. “MacKenzie was hurt. She, uh - she was stabbed and...” Another deep, shaky breath as he raises his head slightly to meet Charlie’s gaze. “She could’ve died.”

He doesn’t mention that her heart stopped - twice, he remembers bitterly, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. Can feel his chest tightening once more just at the thought of it, his vision clouding as he grips the edge of his desk.

“Where is she?”

It takes him a moment to realise that Charlie has asked him something, once more leaning back in his chair as he tries to focus on the man in front of him. (Tries to focus on anything other than the thought of MacKenzie dying thinking he hates her.)

“She was in Islamabad. That’s where it happened. But it was - it was pretty bad. They flew her to Landstuhl.”

Charlie is quick to school his features into a blank expression but Will doesn’t miss the look of worry and pity that flashes across his face. He has no doubt that Charlie knows how badly wounded someone would need to be to be airlifted out. And although Charlie has never met MacKenzie, Will is certain he knows enough about their relationship to accurately gauge how poorly Will is handling this. 

“How is she now?” Charlie asks calmly, eyes fixed on his. Will almost wants to look away, however he’s still trying to put up a façade of indifference, trying to pretend he isn’t still torn up over her, that he isn’t still in love with her. 

“They don’t know yet. She’s still in surgery.”

And then Charlie starts talking passports and flights and - “maybe Elliot could cover the show while you’re gone.”, and Will really has no idea how the conversation managed to turn around so quickly but he does know that there is no way he is flying to Germany. He tells Charlie as much, a horrified look on his face at the mere thought. Why would he go to Germany? He doesn’t want to see MacKenzie, does he? Has no idea what he would even say to her. Maybe it would get rid of the image of her bleeding out on a street in Pakistan that flashes in his mind every time he closes his eyes. (The last time he saw MacKenzie she was crying - _sobbing_ \- outside his apartment, begging him to talk to her, to let her explain why she had cheated on him with her ex-boyfriend. He’s not quite sure which hurts more to think about.)

“Of course you’re going,” Charlie admonishes, and Will can’t quite tell if the eye roll he gives him is affectionate or if he is truly annoyed. Maybe a bit of both. “Do you love her?”

Will really doesn’t know what to say to this. Of course he does. Doesn’t think he’ll ever love anyone the way he loves MacKenzie. But that doesn’t change what she did, doesn’t erase the hurt and betrayal. Is he really going to forgive her just because she almost died?

.

The next couple of hours are spent pacing the waiting room, desperate for news. Jim sits down occasionally, slumped in an uncomfortable plastic seat, fingers tapping on the armrest, leg shaking, trying to ignore the looks given to him by a slightly terrifying looking German man three seats down. 

Eventually the doctor comes to tell him that MacKenzie is out of surgery, that she’s stable (for now is inferred) and that he’ll be able to see her in a couple of hours. 

One of the nurses suggests he goes home to rest and that’s when it hits him that all he has with him are the blood-stained clothes he’s been wearing for he doesn’t even know how long and, mercifully, his wallet and passport. Jim is reluctant to leave the hospital. Knows that Mac wouldn’t dare to leave if their positions were reversed. Hell, when he’d been shot in the ass, which was a surface wound more than anything, Mac had sat by his bedside for days. Granted, once they had been made aware of how minor his injury had been, she had spent the majority of those three days making fun of him. But the point is she didn’t leave him. 

This definitely isn’t a surface wound. But he also can’t imagine anything worse than Mac waking up to see him in days-old, blood-stained (her blood) clothes. So he uses the little German he knows to navigate the streets until he finds a store, buys a couple of outfits and a bag. This way he can stay by her bedside at least until she wakes up. 

MacKenzie wakes up after three days. She’s groggy and confused and she’s asleep again within minutes, but the bleary-eyed look she had given Jim, smiling fondly at him as she’d feebly reached for his hand, is definitely enough to warrant the tears that spill out of his eyes. 

Her parents are due to arrive the next day (he thinks, he’s kinda lost track of time recently) and maybe one of her sisters too, but Jim isn’t entirely sure about that. 

It’s only when the euphoria from seeing MacKenzie awake and semi-alert wears off, when he’s back to sitting beside her bed, changing position every ten minutes so the uncomfortable plastic chair doesn’t cause permanent damage, that he remembers his promise to call Will. 

He answers on the first ring and Jim thinks that might be a good sign.

“She’ll be okay?” Will asks in a low voice after Jim tells him Mac regained consciousness. 

“They don’t know for sure yet but it’s looking good. She’s asleep right now,” Jim goes on after he gets no response. “But when she wakes up-“

“No,” Will interrupts firmly. “Just, don’t tell her you called me.”

“Will-“ Jim begins cautiously. Because Jim was there when MacKenzie spent the first month or so crying herself to sleep, even before he knew why. And he was there when she worked herself to exhaustion, trying desperately to forget whatever ( _whoever_ ) she’s been running from. And he’s here now, even though she’s been unconscious for days, and he doesn’t want to be the one to tell her that this great love of her life doesn’t want to speak to her. That she almost died and that still isn’t enough for him. 

“Please,” is all Will says, the defeat and resignation in his voice the only reason Jim doesn’t try to argue with him. And once more, Will ends the call without a word. 

By the time Mac wakes up again, her parents have arrived. 

Jim watches awkwardly from the doorway as they fuss over her, her mom chatting away as she fixes Mac’s blankets, props up her cards (one from Jim, one from her parents - it’s rather depressing), while her dad refuses to leave her bedside, MacKenzie’s hand grasped tightly in his as he holds back tears. 

Jim had tried to back out the room as soon as Mac’s eyes had fluttered open, assuming her parents would want some time alone with their daughter, but her father had noticed instantly and insisted he stay. 

“She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” he had said, and Jim had turned away so the older man couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks, the tears in his eyes.

MacKenzie puts up with her parents constant doting and hovering for a good few hours before insisting they go to their hotel for the night, that she’ll be fine, she just needs to rest. Jim offers to leave too, but she just shakes her head at him, gives him a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. So he stays, drops into the seat beside her bed. Swallows past the lump in his throat when she reaches for his hand. 

“I don’t-“ Mac trails off, turns away slightly as her voice breaks. This does nothing to hide the tears in her eyes. “I don’t remember what happened.”

“You were stabbed.” And he’s pleased when she laughs at this, although it quickly turns into a wince. 

“Please don’t make me laugh right now.” She repositions herself on the bed, grimacing as she tries to sit up slightly. Face pale, she takes a moment to herself, eyes closed as she lets out a long, deep breath, before turning back to him. “I don’t - I don’t remember what happened. Was it my fault?” 

Her voice breaks once more, mouth turned down at the sides as she blinks back tears and, if it weren’t for the stitches holding her abdomen together, Jim would be scooping her up into his arms and holding her close. 

“No,” he assures her in a shaky voice, shaking his head. “God, Mac. Of course it wasn’t.”

“Tell me what happened.” And he must look as unsure as he feels because she tightens her grip on his hand and says, “please, Jim. I need to know.”

He hesitates, takes in her pale skin, the shadows under her eyes, the way she can barely move a muscle without it hurting. The last thing he wants to do is make her relive this, but her eyes are pleading and he knows she won’t give up until she finds out. He’d much rather she hear it from him. 

So he does. Tells her about the protest, the tear gas, the riots. Decides not to tell her about the blood that soaked through her shirt in seconds, his clothes that he had to throw out, the look of terror in her eyes as she’d looked up at him on the verge of unconsciousness. The way the marines with whom they’d been travelling, usually so calm and collected, had blanched the second they’d seen her, calling ahead to the medical centre, speaking in hushed tones as they cast furtive glances at them. And he definitely doesn’t tell her that he spent the first night crying at her bedside, certain she wouldn’t wake up. 

MacKenzie nods once, pulls her hand out of his as she angles her body away from him. He lets her, figures she’ll need some time to process what she’s heard. Has known Mac for long enough now to know that she just needs space, that knowing he’s there beside her is enough.

They fall into a comfortable silence, lasting long enough that Jim is surprised when she speaks, having just assumed she had fallen asleep again. 

“Did you -“ she trails off, turns away from him once more. And he can tell from the way she sets her shoulders, presses her lips together, that she is trying not to fall apart.

“Did you speak to anyone else?”

Jim hesitates for the briefest of moments. He has never once lied to MacKenzie in the entire time he has known her, but he thinks this lie might be for the best, considering how indifferent Will had appeared over the phone. 

“Just your parents.”

She nods, blinking back tears. And there’s no mistaking the sob caught in her throat when she says, “you should go. Get some rest.”

One night, six months into their post, Jim’s mom had written to him to tell him that his grandmother had died. Despite his half-hearted assurances that he was fine, MacKenzie had sat up with him all night, drinking warm beer until he was drunk enough to forgot where he was, drunk enough to forget that the last thing he had said to his grandmother had been a hastily scribbled letter telling her that he’d arrive safely. (He isn’t even sure if he remembered to write _I love you_ at the end.)

Then rubbed soothing circles onto his back as he’d vomited into the toilet. 

There’s no way he is leaving her right now. Especially when she looks like she could fall apart at any moment. 

“Mac...”

“Jim, please,” she chokes out, her face crumpling as she turns away from him. And she buries her head in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs as she starts to cry. 

Jim hesitates. Knows she doesn’t want to cry in front of him, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with leaving her here, sad and hurt and still pretty fucking high, if he’s being honest. Mind made up, he makes his way to the bed, awkwardly perches beside her and, despite Mac’s half-hearted, incoherent protests, pulls her into his arms. 

They stay like that for a while, MacKenzie giving up all pretences and burrowing her face in Jim’s chest as he holds her close.

She does pull away eventually, wiping at her eyes somewhat sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, even though she has nothing to apologise for. Her voice is hoarse, her eyes red and puffy, but her breathing has evened out and he’s no longer worried that she’s on the verge of a panic attack. It wouldn’t be the first she’s had in front of him but she’s always been much better at talking him down than he has her. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Jim’s pretty sure he can hazard a guess, that it has everything to do with being forced to just stop, with having nothing to focus on or distract herself with for the first time in months. He’s gotten to know MacKenzie’s self-destructive tendencies pretty well during their time together, and he knows that most of what she does is so she doesn’t have time, doesn’t have the energy, to think about everything she left behind. 

He doesn’t say this however. Settles on telling her with a sardonic grin, “might have something to do with the morphine.”

Mac laughs at this, a weak chuckle followed by another wince. She repositions herself on her bed, eyes fluttering closed as she burrows into her pillows. 

“I like morphine,” she tells him around a yawn. Voice barely more than a murmur when she says, “Feels good.”

And he can tell from the way that her breathing deepens that she’s fallen asleep once more, no doubt lured into unconsciousness by the haze of morphine and exhaustion. 

Jim stays until MacKenzie wakes up again. And even then it’s only because she asks - _begs_ \- him to go to the hotel for the night, jokingly tells him not to come back without a laptop. (There’s a ninety percent chance she’s not kidding.) He had haphazardly packed a bag while she was in surgery back in Islamabad, but he’s certain he left half their belongings behind. Briefly wonders if he should have picked up some clothes for Mac on his last shopping trip. He figures they should at least be grateful that, in his panic induced haze, he at least remembered their passports and wallets. He had packed their laptops too, but had been hoping for at least a couple more days before Mac asked him about it. 

Although there’s only so much work she can do from a hospital bed, he reasons as he charges up her laptop in the hotel that night, wanting to make sure her laptop survived the trip before he brings it to her. 

MacKenzie’s parents are there when he arrives the next morning, sitting either side of the bed, each holding one of her hands as they try to toe the line between giving her the space she clearly wants and fussing over their eldest daughter who very nearly died. Jim lurks in the doorway, doesn’t really want to interrupt them. But Mac looks relieved to see him and pulls away from her parents with a forced smile. 

“Jim’s here,” she says brightly, or attempts to, face dropping as soon as her parents turn away. 

And then Mac’s mom is there, ushering him into the room, practically pushing him into the seat she has just vacated, while her dad greets him with a wide grin and an overly enthusiastic handshake. 

Jim hadn’t been at all surprised by how much of MacKenzie he sees in her parents; that same drive and confidence clearly apparent in her mother, her optimism and passion from her father. Both of them showing the same unending kindness and ability to see the best in others. 

(Not that Mac is showing any of these qualities right now, but he figures that’s allowed - given the stabbing, the heartbreak, and the major abdominal surgery.)

MacKenzie’s parents seem to think he’s some kind of hero and it makes him feel inordinately guilty. Even though he knows that what happened wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing he could’ve done differently. Dreads to think what would have happened if he hadn’t been there, if Mac had been by herself. 

They fall into easy conversation, her parents asking him about his life in Atlanta, how he finds life as an embed, his plans now they surely won’t be returning to the Middle East. Mac looks ready to argue this one and Jim feels terrible knowing that there’s no way they’re going back, as much as she clearly wants to. That she’s going to have to go home and face whatever it is she’s been running from. 

Her parents stay for most of the morning, attentively watching over MacKenzie, asking what she needs, how they can help. It’s sweet and they’re clearly worried but Jim can tell Mac’s patience is wearing thin and she is finding it increasingly difficult to put up with their overbearing presence. They take the hint not long after lunch. Only after Mac accidentally snaps at her mom for literally trying to feed her while her dad comments on how thin she’s looking. So they reluctantly leave, promising to come back the next day, and Jim can’t help but feel bad that she’s allowing him to stay. But then she turns to him as soon as her parents are out the door and asks: “Did you bring my laptop?” and he understands why she’d been so short with her parents. 

Mac pushes herself into a sitting position, does such a terrible job at hiding the pain this causes her that Jim is reluctant to hand it over. But he does anyway because when has he ever been able to deny her anything? And, yes, she’s technically his boss, but he’s very much ready to argue that her seniority means fuck all when she can barely walk across the room right now. 

They sit in a comfortable silence while MacKenzie catches up with all the news she’s missed, pours over a weeks worth of unread emails, Jim glancing at her out the corner of his eye every so often, ready to confiscate her laptop if he deems it necessary. 

He can hear her typing away, fingers flying furiously across the keyboard. A frown on her face as she stops, deletes what she has written and starts again. She does this at least three times before hitting enter and slumping back on her pillows, a forlorn look on her face as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, lets out a long exhale.  


(Jim has seen this exact expression enough that he doesn’t need to ask who the email was for. Feels terrible for lying to her about Will. Feels even worse knowing that Will apparently doesn’t give a shit, that he’s still ignoring her after everything she’s been through.)

“Um, Jim,” Mac says after a moment, face pale, eyes wide. And Jim’s certain she’s about to ask him to call for the doctor or _something_ because she genuinely looks like she’s about to pass out but, instead, she turns her laptop towards him and says, “I know I’m on a lot of drugs right now, so there’s a chance I’m hallucinating. But can you please have a look at this?”

Her voice is pleading, almost frantic, her eyes welling up with tears as she presses her teeth into her bottom lip — hard enough to draw blood, he’s sure. And Jim really doesn’t know what to expect when he reaches for the laptop and balances it on his knees. Supposes he at least expected more than a one line email. 

_Glad to hear you’re okay. Will_

“Uh, it’s an email,” Jim glances at her out the corner of his eye. She’s staring straight ahead, arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she continues to chew on her lip. And Jim thinks he might just hate Will McAvoy. (How he never managed to realise that MacKenzie’s Will was Will McAvoy he’ll never know.) “It’s from Will.”

“Can you...” Mac turns away slightly, a blush covering her cheeks as she asks him in no more than a whisper, “what does it say?”

So he reads it to her. A second time, a third, a fourth. Jim thinks the email is somewhat impersonal, but Mac seems excited and hopeful and happier than he’s seen her in a while so he doesn’t voice this opinion. 

Mac falls into a contemplative silence, a slight frown forming on her face as Jim awkwardly places the laptop on the bed beside her. He wants to say something, anything that might help her feel better but he’s at a loss. She was always better at knowing what to say, how to help. Could make someone feel better just by being there. Jim’s not quite got that figured out yet but MacKenzie seems to be fairly grateful for his presence, so he thinks he’s getting better. 

Or maybe it’s just because he’s all she has right now. Sure, her parents dropped everything to fly to Germany and her sisters haven’t stopped calling, but they only know what actually made it to the news. They don’t know the violence, the death, the loss. They weren’t there. But he was, and he can be here now. 

Wordlessly she reaches for the laptop, chewing anxiously on her bottom lip as she slowly starts to type what Jim can only assume is a response to Will’s email. He must look concerned because she smooths her features into a neutral expression, shoots him a small smile before turning back to the screen. And he hates Will McAvoy even more for being too much of a coward to do anything but fill her with false hope.

.

He’s in Germany. He doesn’t know how the fuck he got here but he’s here. All he knows is that as soon as he got off the phone with whatever kid had followed MacKenzie to the Middle East he was on his computer looking up flights and hotels. Charlie hadn’t been surprised when he told him he was going, had apparently been expecting it and had already asked Elliot to cover. 

So now Will is in Germany, pacing the length of his hotel room as he tries to talk himself into — well, he’s not entirely sure what he’s trying to talk himself into. Catching the first flight home? Calling whats-his-name to check in on MacKenzie without her knowing he is checking in on her? Or just sucking it up and visiting her in hospital? 

Either way he had read twenty-six months worth of unread emails on the flight over. Then read them again, typed out a couple of replies that he’s still too much of a coward to actually send. Completely oblivious to the glares sent his way by the other passengers trying to get some sleep on the overnight flight. He had been perfectly aware of the emails, had chosen to ignore them. Or had been physically unable to bring himself to read them. Either way, he had noticed when they had stopped just over two weeks ago. Had convinced himself she had moved on, she no longer cared about him. Tried to convince himself he felt the same. 

Will spends most of the morning holed up in his hotel room, only heading out for something to eat after it becomes clear he won’t find a distraction in his hotel room. He’d tried reading - books, newspapers, the internet, had stared blankly at his work laptop for maybe twenty-five minutes before slamming the lid and pacing restlessly once more. Hell, he’d even tried tricking his jet lagged body into sleeping, forcibly pulling the curtains closed as though that would help him forget it’s eleven in the morning and very much daytime outside. His brain obviously doesn’t give a shit that he’s been up all night, that he’s exhausted himself pouring over MacKenzie’s emails, that he hasn’t slept since he first got the call, unable to think of anything other than her. 

MacKenzie smiling up at him sleepily in the dim light of his bedroom, MacKenzie wrapped around him as she murmurs words of affection into his ear, MacKenzie bleeding out—

He blanches, grabs his jacket and wallet and is out the room before he even really knows where he’s going. 

He walks aimlessly through the nearby streets, hoping to clear his head. Forces himself to eat a sandwich from one of the few cafes within walking distance of his hotel despite not being hungry at all. Easily manages to drink three cups of coffee, however. 

Will had purposely booked a hotel near the medical centre, hadn’t a clue what his room would look like until he arrived. The only stipulation being that it was within walking distance of the hospital. (Of MacKenzie.)

But now he’s here, standing outside the building, he’s not quite ready to go in. 

So he does what he does best and runs. 

Right back to his hotel where he’s pretty sure he sees Mac’s parents, makes accidental eye contact with her father when the elevator doors close just as he enters the lobby. 

Will can only hope he manages to get his shit together before MacKenzie finds out he’s here. If her dad decides to mention it at all. Will wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he hates him, that he blames him for his little girl running into a war zone. God knows Will has spent enough sleepless nights feeling responsible, barely able to focus on anything other than the near-paralysing guilt racking his body. Those were the nights he missed her. When he could forget the image of MacKenzie and Brian and remember what it was like to be with her, to hold her, to love her. To be loved by her in return. Those nights, few and far between when she first left, when the heartbreak was painfully fresh and he felt like he might never love another woman again, have been creeping up on him more and more frequently, the pain of her absence overshadowing the pain of her betrayal until he finally admitted to himself that he just misses her. Of course, he still feels like he might never love another woman again. But for an entirely different reason than the bitter anger he first felt. 

The first thing he does when he gets back to his room is power up his laptop, should probably at least check in with work even if he isn’t there. He opens his emails and — just about stops breathing. 

There’s an email from MacKenzie, time-stamped twenty minutes ago. Right around the time he was standing outside the hospital trying to convince his legs to take him further. He centres himself with a deep breath, a slow exhale. And opens it. 

_Will,_

_I don’t know why I’m still writing to you. I’m definitely not expecting a response. But I think Jim might have called you. He says he didn’t but he’s a terrible liar.  
Anyway, I don’t know if you’ve heard but I was stabbed. _

_I’m okay, I think. Although who knows what will happen when they stop giving me morphine. I don’t really remember what happened, to be honest. A lot of pain and blood. The doctor says I’ll have a decent-sized scar on my abdomen. Scars are badass, right?_

_So it turns out being in hospital gives you a lot of time to think. And I haven’t stopped thinking about you. The way we left things, how I hurt you, how sorry I am. I need you to know that I am so sorry and if I could take it all back I would._

_I still love you, Will. You’re probably sick of hearing this (assuming you’ve actually read all the emails and letters I’ve been sending you) but I do. I never stopped and I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m still here, and I’ll be here for as long as you need._

_I love you,  
MacKenzie_

He reads it over and over again until the words blur together on the screen in front of him. His reply is shorter than she deserves but he really doesn’t know how to put what he is feeling into words, can only hope he can actually bring himself to go to the hospital. He needs to see her, face to face, if not just for the much-needed confirmation that she is going to be okay. 

.

It takes her a couple of days to fully understand what has happened. Probably doesn’t help that the first few times she wakes up she’s stoned and groggy, unable to comprehend anything beyond Jim sitting by her bed, a worried expression on his face. She tries to reach for him, manages to take his hand, and then instantly passes out once more from the exertion. 

It isn’t until she becomes more alert and can stay awake for longer than a couple of minutes at a time that she thinks to ask what happened. The doctor seems reluctant to talk about what brought her here, glazes over the bad stuff, choosing mostly to talk about the medical side of things. Which is fine; she doesn’t really take any of it in beyond _stab wound_ and _severe bleeding_. Because how the fuck did that happen? Besides, the only person she wants to hear this from is Jim. 

Sweet, kind Jim who has barely left her side since he begged her to take him with her all those months ago. Who has been proving time and time again that she made the right decision. (Okay, maybe she’s still a bit high.) 

Mac waits for her parents to leave, already growing annoyed with their tireless coddling and overbearing attentiveness; she loves her parents but there’s a reason she’d moved back to America as soon as she graduated. Jim offers to leave too, probably thinks she needs time to rest and process. Which is true, but she still doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be processing. So she asks him to stay, once more taking his hand when he sits beside her, and asks him to tell her what happened. 

She can tell Jim is trying to be gentle, trying to miss out the gore and the trauma. Can tell from the way he refuses to meet her gaze, jaw set and shoulders tense that it was a lot worse than he’s telling her. She doesn’t know how to tell him that she’s going to relive it all through nightmares anyway. 

The whole thing is hard to believe. It’s one of those things she’s heard stories about, been warned about since they first flew out. Of course, she never thought it would happen to her. There’d been a couple of close calls over the past two years, especially in recent. But she’d always escaped relatively unscathed, too high on adrenaline to fully comprehend the severity of their situation. The marines all thought she was fearless. So she figures it makes sense that she’s the one who nearly died. 

“Did you-“ she stops, turns away from him so he won’t see that she’s about to cry. Doesn’t quite know how to ask if he called Will. Isn’t quite sure if she actually wants to know the answer. But because it’s Will, and because she’s always been something of a masochist, she asks anyway. “Did you speak to anyone else?”

And because she’s spent enough time with Jim that she has learnt all his tells, she knows that he’s lying when he says, “just your parents.”

Of course, it’s this that sends her over the edge. Not spending her nights crammed into the bunks while war broke out around them, not talking Jim through yet another panic attack, not being shot at or threatened or stabbed, but knowing that Will doesn’t care enough to pick up the goddamn phone or reply to a goddamn email.

She doesn’t know why she’s so surprised when Jim insists on staying, arms wrapped firmly around her while she sobs into his chest. 

Perhaps the biggest surprise is when Jim turns up the next day, laptop in tow. She had expected him to put up a fight or at least try to set some ground rules but, as soon as her parents are out the door, he hands it over with a beleaguered sigh. 

MacKenzie hates herself for feeling a pang of disappointment when she checks her emails. Countless emails from colleagues, her sisters, some friends. But none from Will. She hates herself even more for sending him another email knowing full well that he’s not going to reply. Turns out he can still surprise her even when there’s four thousand miles between them. 

It’s been a couple of days since Will’s email. MacKenzie has sent him a few more (okay, five more), figures it didn’t stop her before when he was ignoring her so why shouldn’t she keep trying?

She’s growing restless, is desperate to be discharged. Her only concern being that Mark’s made it clear she won’t be going back to the Middle East and that she has no idea what’s waiting for her back home. Maybe she should start looking up jobs, calling around people she knows. She’s just powered up her laptop, ready to start planning her new life. This idea is half-fuelled by her pain medication and she’s considering waking Jim (who has fallen asleep in the chair by the window), needs him to either spur her on or be the voice of reason; she’s not sure which one she’d rather yet — when the door opens. 

And now Mac thinks she really should wake Jim, or call for the nurse to ask if someone had upped her medication. Because she has to be hallucinating. There’s no way Will McAvoy is standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face. 

.

He doesn’t know what to say. Can’t bring himself to speak or move, can’t focus on anything other than all the tubes and wires currently attached to MacKenzie as she looks up at him from her hospital bed, a look that’s somewhere between shocked and worried on her face. She looks tired, thinner than when he last saw her, her hair longer and disheveled. And she’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. 

“Hi,” he says after a long moment, still not knowing what else to say. He doesn’t move from the doorway. 

“Billy?” Her voice is barely more than a whisper but so familiar, so MacKenzie, that he finds himself trying to swallow past a lump in his throat. “What are you — why? _You came_.”

Will shrugs, nods at who he can only assume is her Senior Producer, snoring lightly from where he is slumped in one of the chairs. 

“Tom called me—“

“Jim,” she corrects fondly, worries her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to stop a massive grin from breaking out on her face. 

He steps into the room now, lets the door close as he slowly walks towards her, stopping at the end of her bed. 

“Jim called me and the next thing I knew I was on a plane.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them break eye contact, Will all too aware of the tender look on his face as MacKenzie looks up at him, teeth gently tugging on her bottom lip. A sight so familiar to him that he once more finds himself trying to ignore the pain in his chest. Tries to remind himself that she betrayed him, that she broke his heart. But he realises that none of this matters when he’s spent two years loving her, two years missing her and wanting nothing more than to have her home in his arms. (He doesn’t know if he’s ready for this yet. But seeing her here, looking so fragile and small, is doing wonders for his ability to forgive her.)

MacKenzie looks away first, sitting up slightly and leaning over to lift her laptop onto the bedside table. He doesn’t miss the way she winces, tries to cover it with a cough. This seems to make it worse, however, and she doesn’t even try to hide her grimace as she repositions herself on her pillows. 

Will wishes he could do something to help but by the time he thinks about offering to get the nurse, she’s looking up at him thoughtfully, eyes sad and pleading. 

“I’m so sorry,” she begins, voice breaking slightly. 

“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” he interrupts. Because he’s been angry and bitter for too long, has spent too long hating her. And right now, the only thing he wants to do is focus on the fact that she’s here, that she’s alive, that she’ll be okay. “I just - I needed to - are you okay?”

Mac lets out a hollow laugh at this and Will doesn’t miss the way she blinks back tears as she gives him a halfhearted shrug. 

“Physically, yes. My doctor is very impressed with how quickly I’m healing. She’s hopeful I’ll be able to leave in a couple of days. As for the rest of me —“ she trails off, moves her gaze to somewhere over his shoulder. And when she speaks again it’s with a self-deprecating smile and a tremble in her voice. “I’m not really sure.” 

“I’m sorry,” Will says after a moment, a pained look of understanding on his face. He knows more than most that, more often than not, the worst scars are the ones that can’t be seen. 

MacKenzie frowns at this. 

“For what?”

And he doesn’t know what he is apologising for, only that he never wanted this for her. No matter how much he cursed her for leaving, for going to a war zone of all places. She was supposed to succeed and thrive, to win awards and change the world; she was never supposed to end up like him. No matter what she did to him, MacKenzie never deserved this. But he doesn’t know how to put all this into words. Doesn’t know how much of himself he’s ready to share with her right now. He’s here, he flew across the Atlantic for her - isn’t that enough?

MacKenzie’s always been able to read him like an open book and, apparently twenty-six months apart has done nothing to change this, because she laughs softly, asks him if he wants to sit down, instead of all the questions he knows must be running through her head. 

Grateful for the shift in conversation, for the chance to take a breath and gather his thoughts, Will lowers himself into the seat by her bed, hesitates only briefly before placing his hand over hers. He really shouldn’t be surprised at the ease with which they fall into conversation. How comfortable and familiar it feels to be talking about everything and nothing. Everything but the one thing they really need to discuss. So much has been left unsaid but Will really doesn’t know if he is ready for this part. The part where she asks for forgiveness and he has to make a choice. The part where he has to decide if he’s brave enough to forgive her or if he’s going to be lonely and bitter for the rest of his life. 

He has no idea why this is such a difficult decision to make. (Yes he does. She spent four months with someone else while he was already halfway in love with her.)

He can tell MacKenzie is getting tired by the way her eyelids start to flutter, her words not quite running together, but getting there, the slight hitch in her breathing that means she’s on the verge of unconsciousness. And he hates that he can still read her like this, but he has two years worth of memories of Mac falling asleep beside him on the sofa, her eyes drifting closed as soon as he turned the television on, no matter what they were watching, her head in his lap or resting against his chest, a warm, comforting weight on top of him. And that’s not something he’s going to forget very easily. 

“‘m going to fall asleep soon,” Mac murmurs, gives him a sleepy smile, a fond look on her face that he thinks she might have been trying to hide until now. She is already half asleep when she asks, “are you going to come back?”

An unexpected feeling of panic takes over him at the thought of leaving her and he breathes in deeply, slowly exhaling as he tries to swallow it down. Tells himself that Mac is fine, she’s survived and she’s here. 

Will should probably check in with work anyway, head back to the hotel for some sleep. Hopefully he won’t run into her parents. Doesn’t really want to meet them anywhere except this hospital room where he can only hope Mac’s presence would stop them from saying anything too damning, anything that would add to the already insurmountable level of guilt he is feeling. Not that the McHale’s are those kind of people. In fact, they used to love him. Of course, that was before he became the reason their eldest daughter sent herself into a war zone. 

MacKenzie rolls over in her sleep and Will shifts his focus back to her; her chapped lips slightly parted, her face relaxed, features soft, and he’s reminded of how young she actually is, that she’s been through more than anyone her age should ever have to. He’s about to reach up to comb his fingers through her hair when she throws her arm out so her hand is gently grasping his forearm. And Will doesn’t think he actually realised how much he missed her until this moment. He feels it now, an ache in his chest, as he watches her sleep. Can’t believe it took her almost dying for him to admit it. 

God, he missed her. 

And he’s starting to think that everything that happened before doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that they’re here now, after all this time, and he wants nothing more than to hold her close and take care of her. That he’s looking at her and he feels nothing but warmth and affection. 

MacKenzie almost died. He still loves her. 

MacKenzie almost died. And he’s forgiven her. 

Will glances at Jim to make sure he’s still asleep before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to MacKenzie’s forehead. 

“I’ll come back,” he promises, words barely more than a whisper as he nuzzles his nose into her hairline. 

.

Jim startles when the door closes, rapidly blinking sleep out his eyes as he jumps into a sitting position, wincing slightly at the kink in his neck. Mac can’t have been sleeping long; the screen of her laptop is still lit up - open on her emails, of course. Figuring it couldn’t have been anyone but the nurse or her parents, he settles back into his chair, closes his eyes once more. 

The next time he is woken, it is by Mac painfully prodding him and whisper-shouting his name. He squirms out of her reach, eyes still half-closed as he swats her hand away. 

“What is it?”

“He came.”

“What are you talking about?” Jim asks around a yawn. 

MacKenzie rolls her eyes, gives him a pointed look. 

“ _Will_ ,” she tells him breathlessly, eyes wide and bright. “He came.”

And now he’s wide awake, warily looking at Mac for signs of - well, he’s not sure what. Insanity, maybe. Perhaps a drug induced haze. Anything to explain MacKenzie’s apparent hallucination. Because he finds it near impossible to believe that the man he spoke to on the phone would’ve dropped everything to fly halfway across the world. 

“Do I need to call the doctor?” Jim asks, trying to keep his tone light. Because, hallucination or not, this is the happiest he’s seen her look maybe ever. 

“Stop it,” Mac admonishes with a laugh, grinning so wide her eyes crinkle at the sides. “He’ll be back later and you better be nice to him. Now tell me what else I missed while I was unconscious.”

And Jim is all too happy to change the subject if it means Mac can hold onto this glimmer of happiness for just a while longer. Especially when he doesn’t think he’ll be able to hide how he really feels about Will McAvoy.

Jim spends the day still half-convinced that MacKenzie had been hallucinating, especially when she doesn’t mention Will to her parent’s when they turn up mid-afternoon, so he’s only slightly speechless when Will appears just before dinner, standing awkwardly in the doorway with a cautious smile on his face. Mac’s mom notices first, letting out a startled gasp before rushing over and pulling him into her arms.

.

Will returns a mere three hours later, having been unable to concentrate on or think about anything other than MacKenzie. He stops just outside the doorway when he realises her parents are there, still not quite ready to face them. Takes a moment to get the butterflies in his stomach under control before he goes in. Only to be tackled in a hug by Mac’s mother. 

“Hi, Morgan,” Will says, almost sheepishly as he returns her hug. Pulls away after a moment so he can shake Mac’s dad’s hand. “John. How are you doing?”

John shakes his head, a grin splitting his face as he enthusiastically shakes Will’s hand.

“I knew you’d come,” he says excitedly. He turns to his wife, “Didn’t I tell you he’d come?” 

“Dad, stop,” Mac groans, buries her face in her hands. But it is clear she is enjoying this, her smile impossibly wide as Will meets her gaze with a fond look on his face. Until he is distracted by her parents asking him a series of questions about his journey and accommodation, barely giving him a chance to answer before she moves onto her next question.

It very quickly becomes clear that he had been overthinking things, that her parents don’t hate him and in no way blame him for Mac going to the Middle East and getting hurt. Or, if they do, they’re at least trying to spare Mac’s feelings by keeping quiet. 

Jim isn’t as easy to read, introducing himself with no more than a handshake and a smile that’s definitely more of a grimace. 

“Hey,” Jim says awkwardly, holds his hand out. “I’m-“

“Jim.” Will looks feels almost nervous as he stands in front of him, but his grip is firm when he shakes his hand, everything about him overwhelmingly sincere as he says, “thanks for calling me. And, uh, thanks for everything you’ve done. I really appreciate it.”

He thinks Jim probably doesn’t like him, definitely doesn’t blame him after their last phone call. 

MacKenzie’s parents don’t hang around for long, heading out after she very pointedly reminds them that they haven’t had dinner yet and suggests they try the restaurant down the street that they’ve been talking about all week. Her dad laughs, fondly rolls his eyes before leaning down to kiss Mac’s forehead. 

“Okay, we’ll get out of your way.”

“I'll call you later,” Morgan says, giving her daughter a knowing look, eyebrow arched in a way that is almost identical to the look MacKenzie is currently giving her. She squeezes Mac’s hand, kisses her forehead before turning to Will. “It was good to see you, Will,”

She presses her hand to his arm on her way out the door and John claps him on the back. 

But Will barely notices, eyes fixed on Mac. She meets his gaze, head tilted as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. He’s distantly aware of Jim telling them he’s going to get something to eat too, awkwardly squeezing past Will to give them some privacy. 

And then they’re alone. It’s been twenty-six months and he can finally say to her everything that he’s been bottling up, all the thoughts and feelings that have been ready to spill out at any moment. It only figures that now he has the chance to open up to, he loses his nerve, can barely think past how much he wants to take her in his arms and never let her go. He won’t do this, of course; he’s very aware of all the things they still haven’t discussed. 

(He’s also very aware of how much he’s missed her, and he’s beginning to think that this feeling might soon start to eclipse the imagine that’s planted itself in his head of MacKenzie and her ex-boyfriend. And if that doesn’t do it, maybe the image of MacKenzie tilting her head at him, face unsure but hopeful, teeth gently tugging on her lower lip as she waits for him to speak will be enough.)

“How are you feeling?” Will asks, crossing the room to sit on the seat beside her bed, leaning forward so his forearms are resting on the edge of the mattress. Mac is still looking at him fondly, a soft smile on her face as she shifts her body ever so slightly to face him. 

“Better now I know you weren’t a hallucination,” she says with a laugh. 

“No,” Will chuckles softly, places his hand over hers. “I’m here.”

“Yeah,” MacKenzie murmurs, tears welling in her eyes as she fixes her gaze on their hands. “You are.”

“What happens now?” He asks, wanting to move the conversation away from anything too difficult, too painful. He doesn’t let go of her hand. 

“What do you mean?” She asks, a slight frown on her face as she meets his gaze once more. 

“I mean,” he says with a shrug, “What happens with work?”

He understands that it’s entirely up to MacKenzie where she goes next, and he’ll respect her decision whatever it may be. But he also feels like he just got her back in a way. And he doesn’t know if he can watch her go back to the place that almost killed her. Doesn’t know what he would do if she got hurt again. And he doesn’t want to be the reason she goes back. 

“I haven’t spoken to anyone at CNN, but I imagine they’ll want me back in D.C. as soon as I’m cleared to fly.”

Will tries to keep his face neutral, but isn’t quite able to do anything about his hopeful tone when he asks, “you’re not going back to-“

Mac cuts him off with a snort of laughter, shakes her head when he gives her a questioning look.

“I’m due a psych evaluation,” she explains with a self-deprecating shrug, all traces of humor gone. She looks away from him and continues, voice wavering, “which I already know I’m going to tank. There’s no way Mark will let me go back to the Middle East.” 

And as relieved as Will is about this, he can’t imagine how MacKenzie must feel. How angry and hurt and defeated she must feel. It was supposed to be her choice and she was only ever going to come home when she was ready.

Part of him wonders if she’d have come already had he answered any of her emails. But he can’t dwell on that, can only be here for her now as she blinks back tears, chin quivering as she lets out a shaky breath, tries to force a smile. 

“MacKenzie,” Will says softly, gently squeezes her hand. But she still won’t look at him, body angled away from him as her shoulders start to shake. “MacKenzie, honey, look at me.”

She shakes her head, lets go of his hand to wipe away the tears now streaming down her face. Will's breath catches in his throat when she turns to him, eyes red and sad, voice breaking when she says, “it’s my own fault. I got reckless and complacent and Jim kept telling me to slow down. He was trying to take care of me but I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t listen and now I’m here and who knows what the fuck I’m going home to.”

Mac tilts her head back against the pillow, eyes closed, but this does nothing to hold back the sob caught in her throat, or stop the sudden onslaught of tears. 

Will hesitates for less than a second before moving to sit beside her and pulling her into his arms. This makes her cry even harder and he can feel her clutching at his back as she buries her face into his chest. 

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand down her back while the other combs through her hair. Tries to ignore the tears welling in his own eyes, to speak around the lump in his throat. “I’ve got you.”

It’s all too familiar, the feel of her in his arms, her body pressed tightly against his as he brushes his lips against her forehead. He just wishes it were under different circumstances. That they were back home in the apartment they unofficially shared in D.C rather than a military hospital in Germany. 

Mac’s sobs subside into shaky breaths but she does nothing to let go of him. If anything, her grip on him tightens as she shuffles back in the bed, and he realises that she’s trying to pull him down to lie beside her. He lets her, a few tears escaping when she rests her head on his chest, tangles her legs with his. 

“I’m really sorry,” she says, voice hoarse but sure. “About everything.”

“I know,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on her. “I am too.”

She lifts her head to look at him, frown lines etched on her face when she says, “you didn’t do anything.” 

Will looks at her thoughtfully, brings one hand up to cup her face. Smiles softly when she reaches up to lace her fingers through hers. 

“There are a lot of things I could’ve done differently.”

Mac smiles sadly, turns to kiss his palm before settling her head on his chest once more, her arm wrapped around his waist. 

They lay together for a while, long enough that Will has very nearly dozed off when MacKenzie next speaks. 

“When do you need to go?” Her voice is slightly muffled by the way she nuzzles her face into his chest and he can tell she is as exhausted as he is by the way the arm around his waist slackens slightly.

He assumes she means when does he need to go back home. Well, back to New York. His new apartment doesn’t quite feel like home yet, although neither did his apartment in D.C until she came along. And he doesn't know what to tell her. Charlie hadn't given him a deadline, had told him to take all the time he needs. The only thing stopping him now is the thought of going home to an empty apartment while Mac is still halfway across the world.

“Come with me.” The words are out before he even knows what he’s saying and he feels her tense beside him, but now he’s entertained the idea for even a second he knows it’s exactly what he wants. Now he just has to figure out how to tell her somewhat eloquently. “Come to New York. Move in with me. Or find your own place - we’ll figure something out. You’d find work in a heartbeat and, if not, who cares? Something will come up eventually. We can make this work. As a couple, as friends, whatever. I just — All I know is —“

He stops, sudden panic rising in his chest as his words catch up with him. He can tell she’s surprised by his outburst. Hell, so he is. But he doesn’t regret it. He isn’t trying to think of a way to take it back, is only trying to make sense of the jumble of words in his head so he can give her the speech she deserves. (He’s never been very good with words, funnily enough, but she’s always been able to understand him anyway.)

MacKenzie sighs, lifts her head to rest on her hands on his chest, meets his eyes with a contemplative look on her face. Will struggles to hold her gaze, already bracing himself for rejection. 

“Are you only saying all this because I was stabbed?” She asks quietly, resigned almost. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she shrugs one shoulder. “What if we get back home and you start to hate me again?”

“I never hated you, MacKenzie,” Will says firmly. There’s a lot he’s not sure of at the moment, but he’s sure of this. That even when she first told him about Brian, and then later when he heard from a mutual colleague that she was embedding, he never hated her. No matter how much he tried to convince himself and those around him. 

MacKenzie smiles up at him, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, is almost disbelieving. And he knows it’s unfair to keep her second guessing like this, that it’s unfair to expect her to be the one to say it first when she has been nothing but transparent about her feelings. 

“You almost died, Will says eventually, voice choked and cautious, all too aware of the confusion on MacKenzie’s face as he speaks. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “And I’ve spent twenty-six miserable months missing you and loving you. And I’d really like to make this work.”

He can see the gears turning in her head, teeth tugging gently on her bottom lip as she processes his words, gaze fixed firmly on his chin as her fingers tap lightly on his chest. Will doesn’t say anything, knows she needs time to think, especially after everything she’s been through recently. Of course, this doesn’t mean that he himself isn’t experiencing high levels of anxiety waiting for her to speak. 

When she does meet his gaze, her eyes are watery once more but she is smiling softly, cheeks slightly flushed. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Mac laughs, sure and delighted, nodding as she pushes herself off his chest slightly. He doesn’t miss the way she winces slightly as she angles her body in a way she definitely shouldn’t after major abdominal surgery, but then she is looking down at him, eyes bright and tender, and all he can think about is that he doesn’t think he’s ever loved her more. 

“I’ll come to New York with you.” She says softly, almost like a whisper. 

“You’ll come to New York with me,” he repeats, slightly stunned, not quite believing what he is hearing.

“Yes,” Mac smiles, leaning down to kiss him, but she stops before she quite reaches. “Anyway, I’m renting out my apartment so I’m effectively homeless.”

“How romantic,” Will snorts, having now regained his composure. Is maybe ninety-five percent sure he isn’t dreaming. 

Laughing softly, Mac brings her hands up to frame his face, thumbs running tenderly along his cheekbones. 

“Billy,” she murmurs, closing the gap between them to brush her lips gently against his. “I love you, too.”

It takes Will a moment to respond, still can’t quite believe this is happening. And then Mac runs her tongue along his lower lip and instinct takes over. 

Her lips are chapped and dry and there’s a distinct hospital scent lingering on her clothes and in her hair, but she still squirms when he trails his hand lightly down her side underneath her sweatshirt, still gasps softly when he rolls her onto her back to deepen the kiss. Then he’s the one holding back a groan when she runs her foot up his calf, one hand clutching at his back while the other tugs at his hair. 

And it’s refreshing to realise that, after everything that’s happened, she’s still MacKenzie. And that’s more than enough for him. 

“Okay,” Mac says breathlessly, pushes him away slightly. Looks up at him with half-lidded eyes as she tries to get her breath back. 

Will frowns, shifts his weight away from her. 

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Shaking her head, she smiles up at him lazily. 

“No. But if we don’t stop then I’m going to end up sore.” Her hand moves to her abdomen, overly careful in a way that makes him think she already is. 

“Mac...”

“Billy, I’m fine. Now, lie down,” she instructs, pushing him onto his back with what little energy she can muster. Leaves him with no choice but to obey as she turns away from him, elbowing him slightly as she reaches for his hand. Realising what she is trying to do, Will rolls onto his side, wrapping one arm around her as she nestles her back against his chest, pillows her head on his other arm. As expected, she tucks her feet between his calves, and the familiarity of this intimacy causes a weight to settle in his chest, until he remembers that this isn’t a dream, that they’re back together, that she’s actually going to come home with him. 

MacKenzie lets out a contented sigh, tangles her fingers through his where his hand is curled against her chest. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” she murmurs, voice slightly muffled from where her face is pressed into his bicep. “Or I’d be kicking you out of bed.”

Will lets out a huff of laughter, presses his lips to the top of her head as he holds her even closer. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I really am.”

.

Will’s in Germany. He actually came. And Jim would be lying if he said he wasn’t bewildered. That after speaking to Will on the phone, he would have put money on there being no way in hell that Will McAvoy would put his life on hold for MacKenzie. 

And then Jim meets him and it’s immediately obvious that he’s head over heels. Of course, that doesn’t mean Jim has to like the other man. 

Unlike Mac’s parents who seem to treat him like a second son, Jim is dubious of Will’s sudden appearance. Especially after he was asked to keep their phone call from MacKenzie secret. MacKenzie who is currently beaming up at Will as he chats to her mom, a grin splitting her face, eyes sparkling. 

The McHale’s take their leave after a few minutes of catching up, and Jim, taking his cue from the pointed look Mac sends him behind Will’s back, also makes his excuses, leaving Mac and Will alone. 

When he returns to Mac’s room maybe three hours later, he really isn’t surprised to see Will is still there. He hadn’t planned to come back until morning, wanting to give them time to talk about all the shit he knows nothing about but knows that they clearly have a lot to work through, but he’d left his phone charger and, with his phone about to die, he doesn’t really have a choice. 

He can hear Mac giggling as he approaches her room, a sound he doesn’t think he’s ever heard in all the time he’s known her, and when he tentatively pushes the door open, they both turn to him with matching smiles. 

Mac is sitting up, laptop perched on her knees, Will beside her, bodies angled toward each other as much as is possible in the confined space of her bed. Jim doesn’t miss they way there are at least three different points of physical contact between them.

“Phone charger,” Jim explains lamely, feeling suddenly awkward for intruding.

“I think it’s over there.” Mac motions to the opposite wall with a nod of her head, still hasn’t stopped smiling.

“Right. Thanks.”

“What about that one?” He hears Will ask, pointing to something on the screen that he can’t see.

“Yeah, right,” she scoffs, and Jim can tell from the tone of her voice alone that she is rolling her eyes. Glances over to see her and Will stupidly gazing at each other. Mac turns back to the laptop with an affectionate huff of laughter and Jim quickly goes back to sourcing his charger. “I told you, I don’t need anything fancy.”

Jim isn’t listening to their conversation on purpose, but it’s not exactly easy to ignore when they’re the only other people in the room. And this has really piqued his interest. He tries not to let it show, however. Clearly not doing a very good job when Mac laughs and says, “Jim?”

Having found what he was looking for, he turns to her, charger in hand and what he’s sure is a dumbstruck look on his face. He’s once more taken aback by just how happy she looks, can barely fathom that it’s barely been two weeks since she was reaching a point of despair and fatigue that Jim wasn’t sure she’d be able to come back from. 

“You don’t need to rush off,” she says. “Why don’t you stay for a while?”

It’s clear from the look on Will’s face that this is the last thing he wants but, to his credit, he doesn’t voice this. To be fair, this is also the last thing Jim wants too.

“I need to sleep. But I’ll come back tomorrow,” he promises. Will gives him a grateful look, which just makes Jim even more curious to know what was said between them while he was gone. Wonders if he’ll actually get a chance to ask her or if the other man will be glued to her side until she’s well enough to be discharged. “We can hang out then.”

Mac pouts at this but it quickly softens into a fond smile when Will nudges her shoulder, points at the screen again. And, just like that, Jim is forgotten.

He hesitates in the doorway, torn between his upbringing telling him it's rude to leave without saying goodbye and the knowledge that they have, without a doubt, forgotten he is in the room with them. His decision is made when Mac lowers her head to rest on Will's shoulder, murmuring something he can't hear, and Will, a tender smile on his face, eyes soft and loving, presses a kiss to her forehead. Jim slips out the door without a word, the image of a blissfully happy MacKenzie unequivocally imprinted in his mind.

(This doesn’t change anything, of course. He still hates Will on principle.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! let me know what you think!


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